In a Bar on Saharr
by WhispertheWolf
Summary: Oneshot: In a bar on Saharr, a bartender serves a variety of customers from a variety of places offering a variety of opinions, but in the end, they're all always saying the same thing.


Author's Notes: I've been thinking a lot about politics lately (because the political situation in my country is a mess), and that is what sparked the idea for this fic. Please read before you judge. And know that these are just opinions I've heard from other people and applied to people in Atmos, and you may or may not agree with them.

Disclaimer: I do not own _Storm Hawks_. It is property of Nerd Corps…because Nerd Corps is full of geniuses!

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In a Bar on Saharr

By WhispertheWolf

Saharr isn't much, really. It's big and sandy and largely uninhabited. The biggest city around mostly has tents for buildings so that the city can be moved to a safe area during a sandstorm, which are frequent here. And to make this parched, hot land even worse, the people here are not always reliable and _certainly_ not always honest.

But in many ways, this terra is special. Here you can get almost anything you want to buy; in a way, it's like the marketplace in the city was to the desert people of the first century and the Internet is to the shoppers of the twenty-first century. Of course, you might have to haggle, but at least you'll be able to find it.

Another thing that makes this terra special is this: People here don't care whether you're Cyclonian, free Atmosian, local, or something else all together. If you buy or sell in the marketplace and don't cause trouble, then you're just fine. The only time this ever changes is when the local Sky Knight squadron, the Third Degree Burners, hosts the Great Atmos Race. Even though the Third Degree Burners don't fight in the war, they don't want Cyclonians attacking their competitors.

So because of this, it should be no surprise at all to find a very varied assortment of characters in Rook's bar. In fact, the non-political environment was what made Rook love where he lived.

His bar wasn't much of a place, although it was as much of a place as any other place on Terra Saharr. It was a tent with a counter, really, but it served more than just drinks. People came here to get a meal as well as alcohol, although most of the food tasted suspiciously like sand.

Well, it was one of those slow, hotter-than-hot days. Rook was simply wiping the bar, and the room was nearly empty. Then a Blizzarian entered and ordered a shot of grog and a full meal.

The Blizzarian began to eat contentedly, and Rook took to cleaning again silently. As the customer began to drain his glass, he asked, "Rook, am I right?"

Rook nodded.

"Name's Johnny Jumper," the Blizzarian said.

_One of those weird Blizzarian names,_ Rook thought.

"Say," Johnny said, "have ya heard?"

"Heard what?" Rook asked patiently. He was used to talking to drunken customers, so he didn't hesitate at all in his speech.

"The latest battle, eh?" the Blizzarian asked.

_Oh,_ Rook thought. "No," he answered. "This is Saharr, old boy. The only thing you hear about the war is rumors from visitors."

Johnny Jumper smiled. "Those Storm Hawks beat them lousy Talons off again, eh? Even the Dark Ace, eh?"

_Of course,_ thought Rook. The Storm Hawks. All he ever heard when he heard about the war was either about Cyclonia's most recent success or about the Storm Hawks, who always won their battles. Storm Hawks, the saviors. Storm Hawks, the conquerors. Storm Hawks, the tormentors. Storm Hawks, the nuisances. There was another one he'd often heard about them, too.

"Storm Hawks!" a voice grunted distastefully. "Nothing but a bunch of kids!"

Oh, yeah. That one.

Rook looked up to see who had entered. It was another Atmosian from the looks of it. This one was actually in shape. He sat down next to Johnny Jumper, glaring at the Blizzarian as he ordered, "Get me a good shot o' rum, will ya?"

Johnny was disgusted with the newcomer's comment. "Nothing but a bunch of kids?" he growled. "Who are you to say such crap?"

"Thatcher," the new man answered. "And yes, they're nothing but a bunch of kids. It's ridiculous the way this society is going. Thanks to all the stupid Cyclonian invasions, more and more children are being orphaned and homeless. So obviously, the more hormone-charged teenagers you have running around and watching their homes and families being destroyed, the more likely they are to pick sides and fight. You see many teenagers choosing to fight for Cyclonia for fear of not being on the winning side. Cyclonia now has this thing where all these wannabes have to do is conquer a small terra a couple miles wide, and they get to become Talons."

"But the Storm Hawks are a Sky Knight squadron, eh?" Johnny retorted. "More than that, they fight for all terras, not just one, eh?"

"You mean they fight for all terras in Atmos," another voice growled.

Rook turned to see another newcomer. This one, however, made Johnny's and Thatcher's backs stiffen. The man was wearing a Talon uniform.

At last, Johnny recovered. "Well, yes, where else, eh?"

The Talon shook his head. "I'm not talking about the world of Atmos," he said. "I'm talking about the _society _of Atmos. You know, the free Atmos versus the Cyclonian Empire. You don't see the Storm Hawks protecting any Cyclonian-ruled terras."

"You might see them liberating them, eh?" Johnny grumbled, casting the Talon a death-glare.

"Back to the point," Thatcher said, "some kids don't become Talons. They try to fight for Atmos instead. But I don't care what side they're on; the battle skies are no place for children."

"Even if they could out-do anyone they fight against?" Johnny asked skeptically.

"They have age limits for a reason," Thatcher insisted. He lifted up his sleeve, and to the others' amazement, they saw he actually had only half his arm! "I should know," he said solemnly. "War is a terrible thing. Kids don't need to be ruining their youth by getting involved in it."

Rook finally saw an opportunity to join in the conversation. "In a war like this," he said, "a kid can't avoid being involved in it, whether they're fighting or not. Like you said before, most of those going off to fight are orphans whose lives have _already_ been ruined by war, Storm Hawks included."

The Talon nodded solemnly. "All too true, friend," he agreed. He flipped a coin onto the counter. "Pour me a shot. The strong stuff," he insisted. "I need a break from these filthy commanders. They think they're _all that!_"

Rook poured him a drink as another customer walked in. This was a geeky little man with glasses. He was thin and nervous. "A glass of merlot, please," he asked quietly and politely, casting terrified glances at the Talon. Rook had to hold in snickers at his nervousness. It was so easy to laugh at another's meekness, he thought to himself.

The Talon seemed to enjoy the little man's fear of him. He thumped the thin man on his back. "Name's Buteo!" he said cheerily. "And who might you be?"

"K-k-kite," the thin man stuttered. Rook could see Buteo smirking at Kite's unease. He was obviously very amused by it.

At length, the Talon turned back to Johnny Jumper and Thatcher. "So tell me, Atmosians," he said, hissing on the word _Atmosians_, "which of your beloved Sky Knight squadrons do you consider to have been the best of all time?"

"Like we'd reveal anything to you, eh?" Johnny snarled.

Buteo looked taken aback. "It was just a question," he said. "It requires no knowledge of their fighting techniques. I must say, you've got quite a temper, John."

"Johnny," the Blizzarian corrected in a snarl. "Johnny Jumper."

"That's a hard question to answer," Thatcher began. "Let me think about it . . ."

"The Storm Hawks," Johnny answered without hesitation.

Thatcher rolled his eyes. "Of course."

"W-which Storm Hawks do you mean?" Kite began nervously, fiddling with his glasses.

Thatcher grunted. "The old Storm Hawks were obviously the best," he said.

"The new ones are better, eh?" Johnny Jumper insisted. "Unlike the first ones, they don't have a _traitor_ in their mists, eh?" He glared at Buteo.

Thatcher turned to the Talon. "He means no offense, of course," he assured him, although Johnny's glare said otherwise.

Buteo shrugged. "None taken," he said. "I'm used to being treated like dirt. Besides, a traitor is a traitor, no matter what side you believe he should be on."

Rook was curious now. "I never really understood what was the cause of all this," he said.

"Greed," Johnny growled low under his breath, ruffling his fur. "The old Master Cyclonis wanted power, eh? And when her son died, she raised her granddaughter and passed that want onto her, eh, so that history can repeat itself."

Rook shrugged. "It's humanoid nature," he said.

Buteo stiffened. "Greed?" he said. "Power? No, that's not the Master's dream." The others looked at him skeptically. "Okay, so maybe it is, but we have very good reasons for fighting under her."

"Because you're scared to go against the _royal family_?" Johnny Jumper asked skeptically, his glower turning into a death-glare.

The Talon shook his head. "Of course not," he said. "But you see, once she has the world taken over, she'll offer equal opportunity and service to all citizens of her Empire. It will be a perfect world! No wars, no hierarchy—except the royal family, of course—no inequality."

"Sounds like communism with a ruling tyrant," Rook mumbled under his breath. He hadn't meant to be heard, but everyone turned his way regardless.

"What's wrong with communism?" Buteo asked, eyeing the bartender coldly.

Rook shrugged. "Communism is the perfect fantasy," he said. "A world where everyone is equal and under one society, so that there would be no war. Yes, the perfect fantasy, but not a very realistic one."

Buteo crossed his arms. "Care to explain?"

Rook was glad this came up. This was a thought he had juggled with for awhile now. "You see," he said, "communism not only has equal opportunity, but also equal goals and equal services and equal property. There would be very little that was personal, very little where people could vary as they should. I hate to be the one to say it, but people are not created equal. Oh, one life is just as valuable as another. What I mean is that people have different abilities, different learning styles, different interests, different needs. They are individuals. Just look at us now. Some of us are fighters, others scholars, and I'm a bartender. We're not even all the same species: four humans versus one Blizzarian. If the world were to be consumed in communism, then the needs of the individual would be ignored."

Everyone had a thoughtful silence afterward. "That's quite a speech," Thatcher said at last. He turned to Buteo. "Ever thought of it that way?"

Buteo shook his head, but his eyes were cold. "Those who can't help the community and serve something bigger than themselves don't have a right to live," he growled. "If we got rid of those who don't _want _to change, then communism would work!"

This hit a nerve in Johnny Jumper. The Blizzarian leaped to his feet, his hackles standing on end and his ears flattened against his head as he showed his pointed teeth, like a dog warning that it was about to spring. "So you would rather see people _die_ and take away their homes and families rather than admit that they are different?" he growled.

The Talon's eyes were hard. "Perhaps if you Blizzarians had been more accepting of change, you wouldn't have had that happen to you!" He stood as well, his hands balled into fists.

Rook could see this was getting out of hand. "Sit down, men," he called desperately. "This is Saharr. We don't have enemies here." But the Talon and the Blizzarian only continued to stare at each other, each ready to leap at the other. "Don't make me call the Third Degree Burners over here," Rook warned them. "Blister won't care whose side of the war you're on; he'll have you out of here if you cause trouble."

Buteo rolled his eyes. "Oh, _sure_," he said. "And when the story is presented to them, guess whose side they'll take? The Third Degree Burners might claim to be neutral in the war, but they're still a Sky Knight squadron, and they still follow the Sky Knight Council."

Thatcher nodded. "Loyalty is a funny thing," he said.

But Johnny Jumper was sitting down anyway. "It's not worth it in this heat, eh?" he grumbled, panting like an over-heated dog.

After that, things seemed to cool down a bit, but Thatcher kept a place right between the Blizzarian and the Talon.

"Have you heard?" Buteo said at last.

Rook snorted, thinking about how that was _exactly_ what Johnny Jumper had said when he came in.

"Heard what?" Thatcher asked casually.

"About Cyclonia's alliance with Terra Bogaton?" Buteo said.

"What about it?"

Buteo smirked. "It's not going so well. The alliance is kind of…strained these days. Repton seems to have it in his head that he should overthrow Master Cyclonis, but he's holding out for now. Of course, if he'd try, he'd fail. No one can take the Master."

Johnny Jumper pricked his ears at this conversation. "I hear that Repton's brothers haven't been so fond of him lately, either, eh? They want to overthrow his rule over their squadron and Terra Bogaton, eh?"

Buteo nodded. "You would be right. There's all kinds of mutiny going on right now. Ravess has been banished for it. And from the way her brother is going, he's soon to follow, I think."

"Hey, speaking of Cyclonis—" Johnny began.

"Master Cyclonis," Buteo corrected.

Johnny glared at him. "She's your master, not mine, eh? _As I was saying_, what is it with her interest in the girl on the Storm Hawks, eh? Is she after her at all nowadays?"

Buteo shook his head. "Nah, that's a personal conflict. Master Cyclonis doesn't let personal conflicts get in the way of political ones. If she were after any of the Storm Hawks for the good of her Empire," he said, "she'd be after the Sky Knight. The boy's been a thorn in our side for awhile now, even facing the Dark Ace. Besides," he smirked, "what's a Sky Knight squadron without a Sky Knight?"

Johnny's eyes hardened. "What do you plan to do about him, then, eh?"

Buteo rolled his eyes. "Like I'd tell you even if I knew. Which I don't. The commanders don't tell us anything." He frowned at the last part, his brow furrowed.

Johnny's jaw was clenched, and it came undone in a snap when he said, "If you hurt that boy . . ."

Buteo put his hands up in the air. "Hey, you asked. I'm just the messenger. _I _don't stand behind a great machine making plans to rebuild the world."

"You mean, end it as we know it," Thatcher growled, for the first time taking sides.

Buteo shrugged. "Depends on the way you look at it."

Buteo turned around and smiled at Kite, who leaned away fearfully. "Hey, come on," Buteo said. "We Talons aren't all bad." He nudged the scared little man with his elbow. "Let's here your story. What's your opinion?"

Kite shrugged. "It's…war," he said with horror.

"You've got to say more than that," Thatcher egged on. "You seem like the scholarly type. Surely you know more."

Kite looked uncertain, but he began anyway. "Like Thatcher said, war is tearing apart people's homes and families and the world itself. It's a terrible thing, the greatest sin of humanoid-kind. We get together in great fighting units to kill masses of each other." Kite's confidence and voice grew with each word, and now he looked angry and spoke clearly. "It's a terrible thing, just terrible! Humanoid species are the evilest things in the world for inventing it! The previous Master Cyclonis wanted power, and so the Storm Hawks united the other terras and fought back. That makes them as much a monster as she is. All fighters are monsters!"

Thatcher grunted. "They didn't want us to be ruled by a dictator," he insisted. "They knew we should be free."

"But they fought fire with fire," Kite insisted, fiddling with his glasses. "They tried to right a wrong by doing that same wrong. There is no reason to have war. Besides," he added, "a dictatorship is much more stable and smooth than a democracy."

"Until you get a bad dictator," Thatcher grumbled.

"You a pacifist, eh?" Johnny said to Kite. "You from Terra Tranqua or something?"

Buteo nudged Kite again. "Hey, you're not so shy after all, are ya?"

Kite turned away from Buteo fearfully and fell silent, glancing around with nervous eyes.

Thatcher looked away. "He's right," he said. "War _is_ a terrible thing. But it's one thing to start it, and it's another to fight back to try and stop it. In this case, Cyclonia would be the aggressors, and the Sky Knights are only taking up defense. I see nothing wrong with what the Sky Knights did. Now, if _my_ side of the war had started it, I might be a pacifist, too."

"If the other terras had agreed to change," Buteo insisted, "had they decided to follow the right leader, we wouldn't _be_ in a war."

Thatcher turned to Rook. "What do you say, bartender?"

Rook, who was still listening intently to the conversation while he worked, now stopped to weigh everything that had been said. Finally he said, "It's humanoid nature. They repeat history. This war is similar to the uprising of the Sky Knights five hundred years ago. Before that, Atmos was ruled by dynasties that overthrew each other, tearing the Atmos apart in each transition from one dynasty to another. Before that, each terra warred with each other. Most of it was fueled by greed and power and by things done in the past that were being avenged. If anyone knew their history, they'd try not to keep repeating it. If they read their history, they'd decide on no more political plans and let people get on with their life.

"Dictatorship, democracy, communism, republics, dynasties—disagreement between two sides about these political systems leads to war. It has as much to do with politics as it has to do boundaries between two societies." He pointed to them. "This whole talk, this whole argument, is really all about politics. And that's why I live on Saharr."

Everyone stared at him in thoughtful silence.

And this is what makes being a bartender worth while, Rook thought. You got to hear the most interesting conversations and then blow everyone away with your summary of it.

He shook his head and smiled as his customers left one by one in solemn quiet. Politics. It always went back to politics.

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Author's Notes: Well? A little outspoken, I know, but in order to avoid conflict, I'm not taking sides with any of the characters. You can hate some of the opinions in this fic if you want, but it was simply a statement of more than one side of the story. So, anyone want to tell me their thoughts? Any reviewers?


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